Remnants of the Earth

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Ezekiel Jada Pendergast
Alias: Zeke
Gender: Male
Age: 150+
Height: Varies
Race: Kitsune
Sexuality: Pansexual
Nationality: Aedolian
Residence: Haviah, Aedolis
Occupation: Pilot Cardinal , Research and Development Department


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
A hard thing to pin down, since Zeke is a shape-shifter and can change his appearance at will, even fluctuating from moment to moment at times. The most common appearance is a short man with pale, piercing blue eyes, somewhat shaggy white hair, two very large white fox ears, a fluffy white fox tail, and slender build.



PERSONALITY
Insanely brilliant, or brilliantly insane, take your pick. Zeke is arguably a genius, but he is also on the crazy side. His mind is quite the tangle of twisted thoughts, a sublime jumbled mess. There is little he enjoys more than his work in the Research and Development department, the lab is his one true love.

Zeke has a razor focus when working in his lab, but outside of his workplace he is highly prone to distraction. His thoughts are often scattered to the winds, pulled in different directions at the slightest hint of a breeze. Outwardly he comes off as quite a bubbly and happy individual, albeit a very absent-minded one. At times he also seems to be extremely naïve or innocent, but at other moments it is clear just how insanely sharp his mind can actually be.



PSIONICS
Telepathy: Zeke is a surprisingly competent telepath, given how absent-minded he tends to be, he’s a surprisingly hard nut to crack. Only the stronger telepaths can truly penetrate his mental shields, and only someone with a very strong will can keep all their thoughts hidden from him. Although this applies mostly to surface thoughts, as Zeke is not particularly gifted at delving into deeper thoughts.

Precognition: Precognition is one of the rarest and most valuable abilities a Pilot can possess, and even the weakest of Precogs are often given pathways to success, which is to say, Zeke is not the strongest of Precogs. While Zeke has had premonitions that proved valuable, most of the time they are hardly impressive at all, and his drawbacks are fairly severe. Even the faintest of premonitions can result in headache, confusion, and nosebleeds, while stronger ones have gone as far as to cause seizures.

Shape-shifting: A naturally occurring species trait. Zeke can shape-shift into most any humanoid appearance he wishes, altering every feature of his being from hair and eyes down to height, weight, and even gender.



BACKSTORY
Zeke has been around a long time, and the first records of him are when he entered the Candidate Program, anything before that is a mystery. He passed through the program with relative ease, at least as far as his records would indicate, but his file is also flagged and requires special clearance to access more than the most basic of information. The Pilot is permanently stuck at Cardinal rank, with no possibility of promotion.

Given the nature of his work in R&D this isn’t seen as much of a problem, and Zeke seems perfectly content to remain at the lowest rank.

The week wasn’t any less hectic, strenuous, or impossibly packed with drills, simulations, and photo shoots than any other week, but aside from being quite worn out, Nakiri felt pretty light as he made his way home. A small grocery shopping bag swung in his hand as he nearly skipped down the walkways towards the very lavish housing where he resided. It wasn’t really a mystery to him why he was in such good spirits. He had been riding an emotional high all week.

Sure last Friday had started out a little rocky, but by the end it had been a lot better. The rest of the weekend had fallen into a very neat and pleasant line. He felt a little surge of warmth and happiness as he remembered dinner with the Hext family Sunday evening. Nonna Hext, what a delightful woman! Nakiri thought she had liked him, which boded well in his mind, since he was friends with both of her grandchildren.

The only thing that could have made the week better would be knowing for sure he would see Lupo again soon. It was hard to admit that he had truly grown fond of the goofy dog’s company, but the panic Nakiri had felt at the idea of driving him away made it hard to deny that he liked Lupo a great deal. He had broken his reluctance to cook just to please the man!

Oddly it did not bother him as much as he thought it should. Nakiri hummed softly to himself, unconsciously smiling as he approached home. Nothing could ruin this week.

Nothing until he drew close to the building lobby and saw a familiar silhouette standing near the elevators. Both his smile and his step faltered as he drew closer and recognized his mother’s severe face. For a flickering moment elation washed over him as his eyes grew round as saucers. A wave of emotions rushed over him as he realized that his mother was standing before him in the flesh - it was the first time he had seen her since being forced to go to the ATC when he was only thirteen years old.

Joy was rapidly replaced with trepidation. The woman before him may have radiated the same heat that he did, but her expression and demeanor were cold as ice. So much so that a shiver went through him as he lowered his eyes timidly.

“Mother, I wasn’t expecting you.” It was a hesitant, formal greeting. Why was she there? As much as he wished it was a simple social visit, Nakiri knew better.

“Nakiri.” His name was clipped, as if the very act of saying it or speaking to him was something unpleasant. She gestured to the elevator. “Show me your apartment.”

It wasn’t spoken like a request to be invited in. Nakiri shuffled quickly to obey the order, hands trembling as the elevator opened for his chip. When the doors slid shut behind them, a bead of sweat formed on his brow. Neither spoke as they were taken up. He didn’t dare speak first, wiping his hands against his (very fashionable) jeans nervously to dry them as they became clammy. His mother had called to berate and demean him more than once since he had begun spending time with Lupo. It was no doubt to him that was the purpose of this unexpected visit.

Well he should have expected that things would only escalate. It was inevitable that eventually his mother would come to give him her condemnation in person. At least this was to be a private humiliation, performed in his living quarters, that should be expected as well. Of course his mother would not want to have a public spat with him.

That would only cause her more embarrassment.

Each floor in the most silent and uncomfortable elevator ride in his life only saw Nakiri’s anxiety level spike higher. When the doors finally opened he practically raced out of the suffocating metal box and towards his apartment door. The image of a tightening noose flashed through his mind as he reached home and pushed the door open quickly. He knew his mother was following him at a leisurely pace, that woman would not be seen to rush anywhere.

He moved to the kitchen and dropped his bag onto the counter, digging through cupboards to pull out two wine glasses, then grabbing a bottle out of the freezer.

Fox-like ears twitched as the sound of the apartment door closing reached them.

“I’ll pour us a drink.” It was all he could think to say. Nakiri had to say something, had to do something or risk going crazy. So he poured the wine with shaking hands as he waited for his mother to say something.

To say anything.

Trembling movements stilled as Nayumi Devoss moved around the kitchen island towards him. She was growing older, but the only sign of her age was the streaks of grey woven through fire red-orange hair and small creases around her almond-shaped pink eyes. It had been so long since he had seen the diminutive woman, who was an inch shorter and just as slight in build. A lump formed in his throat as tears prickled in his eyes. He wished to throw his arms around her but didn’t dare.

She was still cold.

Nakiri heard it first. The resounding, echoing crack as his ears folded back in confusion, then hung further as realization dawned as the burning sting made itself known against the skin along one side of his face. She had slapped him. His mother had slapped him!

In disbelief he raised a hand to touch the seared flesh of his cheek. The pain on the surface was not nearly as bad as the stabbing one that wrenched through his chest.

“Mother I -” How could he even begin to explain or excuse himself? There would be no explanations, it seemed.

“Silence, stupid child. You have shamed your mother for the last time. No child of mine will be the whore of some non-kitsuni fool.” Each word made him wince with the venom with which they were delivered.

“Please Mother, I have just been so lonely. I couldn’t stand being alone anymore. If you just arrange to give me a husband I will marry them, anyone you choose, I will be a good husband to them. I swear. I will never see him again, I promise.” The words came out in a rush as Nakiri dropped to his knees, another stabbing pain went through his chest at the prospect of turning Lupo away forever in favor of a husband, but to appease his mother, Nakiri would have promised anything and everything, so desperate was he to win back her approval - something he had not had since he had left home so many years before.

“A husband? Bah! I will not subject another kitsuni to this fate. You are selfish for even asking. They would be forced to move away from their home to live with you and then what? You would both be miserable. I will not do it. I will not perpetuate this farce of removing kitsuni from where they belong. If you had any sense of honor or respect for your people you would have died in that torture chamber they call a training ground. The Nakiri that was my son died when he was thirteen. You are not mine.” The words were earth-shattering, like a thunderclap echoing through his head.

You are not mine.

The faint, tenuous little psychic presence in the back of his mind blew out like a candle as Nayumi Devoss, his mother no more, turned from him and left his apartment without a further backward glance.

It may have been an eternity, or possibly only a few seconds, but Nakiri was frozen in place, on his knees on his kitchen floor, as the reality of the situation slowly rolled over him like a roiling wave of darkness. Something almost tangible squirmed within his chest and gut, a burning pain that threatened to overwhelm him even as it left him empty and cold.

Nakiri didn’t know how long he simply stayed there, but at long last he managed to rouse himself enough to try to grip the counter. He couldn’t see, tears blinded him as he attempted to regain his feet, but quickly gave up and sank back to the floor as his tails and arms wrapped around himself. Soft whimpers rose into choked sobs as the sense of being alone slammed into him harder than it had since that horrible day when he had left home.

The loneliness was a physical pain that twisted in his chest, threatening to choke him in truth as he gasped and struggled to breathe. Terror like nothing he had ever felt before clawed at him, because he knew that he would die here alone if he did not move from where he sat on the floor.

Nakiri knew there were knives in the drawers, so temptingly close. No, he couldn’t stay in the kitchen. Where could he go? Fleetingly he thought about the bathroom, but their were razors, the tub could be filled and one of his many curlers, straighteners, and other such electrical instruments could be thrown in with him. Maybe he could climb into bed, but the sheets could be fashioned into a noose, he could see it flash through his mind tauntingly.

Trying to get back to his feet only caused him to collapse all the way to the floor with a desperate whine. Nakiri considered curling into a ball again and just sitting until the despair consumed him, but instead he began crawling blindly through his apartment, feeling his way along as his eyes refused to clear no matter how many times or how rapidly he blinked.

It was hard to focus on where he was going. Trying to visualize his apartment was nearly impossible as he became more hysterical with each passing moment. He found his closet door and pushed it open. Could he strangle himself on some of the clothing inside? Nakiri pushed the thoughts aside and crawled into the dark, enclosed space. Funny how the elevator had felt suffocating and this was almost comforting.

Still moving blindly, he felt his way to the back corner until his hand brushed against something soft. A horrendous racket flooded the silent closet. It was the stupid turkey Lupo had given him. Nakiri had immediately loathed that ridiculous electronic gobble when he’d opened the package from the silly dog that had somehow become his friend.

Well he certainly didn’t think it was stupid now. Nakiri brought the stuffed toy to his chest and hugged it, burying his face against the material as it gobbled at him again. His body curled around the gift and shook as he cried, letting out the pain the only way currently available to him, because if he didn’t release it he knew it would destroy him. Honestly, Nakiri wasn’t sure the agony wracking his insides wouldn’t kill him no matter what he did.

“I wish you were here.” He sobbed almost incoherently into the dark.

Gobble.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Liam Thorne
Gender: Male
D.O.B: November 13th
Age: 17
Height: 6’2”
Weight: 193 lbs
Race: Human
Sexuality: Bisexual
Nationality: Aedolian
Residence: ATC, Aedolis


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Liam is built like a brick wall. Tall, with broad shoulders and an abdomen that only slightly tapers at the waist, leading down to solid legs. The young man is encased in lean cords of muscles thanks to his rigid training regimen.  He’s got a strong jaw and angular features. Black hair is kept neat in a short cut, and deep green eyes are as cold as the glittering emerald gems they resemble.



PERSONALITY

Cold, abrasive, calculating, and manipulative – Liam knows what he wants and lets nothing get in his way to getting it. Some people think they’re better than you but he knows he’s better than you. It isn’t even a contest with his superior breeding, intellect, and training. He is a perfect soldier, in that he will obey orders without question or hesitation.



PSIONICS

Telepathy: Fairly average, nothing of undue note to be made.

Empathy: Almost exclusively skilled in reading the emotions of others in order to manipulate them in more mundane, non-psychic ways.

Fatal Impulse: The only currently known possessor of this hyper-specialized form of empathetic ability, Liam simply need make eye contact with a victim and he can trigger an irresistible urge to end one’s own life. So far there is a 100% fatality rate when this ability is activated and once triggered it cannot be stopped. The victim will take their life as quickly as they can by whatever means is easiest to acquire, whether that be a gunshot, a sharp object to sever arteries, or leaping from a great height.



RELATIONSHIPS

Meredith Rollins-Thorne: Mother, they have a cold and distant relationship.

Conrad Thorne: Father, they have a cold and distant relationship.

Megan Thorne: Sister, 13, and a Gracie. They have a cold and distant relationship.

Jasmine Harte:Fiancee, they have known each other since childhood and have been betrothed just as long. Upon both of their completion from Candidacy they are to marry, as per the arrangement made by their families.



BACKSTORY

Born in Havina to an extremely wealthy and elite family, Liam is next in line of a very long lineage of Pilots. He has been raised with, frankly, insane expectations, and so far he surpasses them all. His only ambition is to rise as high in rank as he can, serve Aedolis, and bring further prestige to his family name.

A note and case were left on the counter for Eit.

Big Blue Bastard,

The last few days have been weird.

Although weird really doesn’t even begin to cover it – it is probably closer to absolutely fucking insane.

I went to the hospital prepared to die, and nobody really questioned that self-assessment. I was in pain, had wasted away to a shadow of my former self. When I fell asleep I had been so sure that I’d never wake up again. At least my last sight would have been you hovering by my bedside. I just wish you hadn’t looked so devastated.

Obviously death didn’t happened.

It really, really didn’t happened.

In a very big, weird way.

Who goes to sleep about to die and wakes up a vampire? I sure as hell hadn’t expected that to happen, and I still don’t know why it did. The one guy, the doctor dude, had tried to talk to me after I had calmed down and gotten control of myself, but I hadn’t been keen to listen to a lecture when I didn’t know where you were or how you were doing.

You know what else I really wasn’t expecting? For you to up and maul me with your mouth when you woke up from the sedatives they gave you. That was maybe even weirder and more confusing than the vampire thing.

I wonder what that says about me?

When we met years ago I liked you almost immediately. A dark sense of humor and into weird things – what wasn’t to like? We both liked annoying each other, and until I got sick we always got along pretty great. Sure there were spats, insults, and ribbing, but that was just us.

Getting sick changed things; it made things strained, stressful, and serious.

Neither of us has really been ourselves, and now I feel tangled up in knots almost as bad as when I was dying. I can recall the moment that you woke up and practically attacked me with startling clarity. I can still sense my heart skipping, still feel your lips on mine, the warmth of your body as we were pressed together. I can still taste you for fuck’s sake.

Of course we broke down into fighting almost immediately after that. We always end up bickering. Half the time I truly don’t understand how or why, it just always seems to happen. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

You kissed me, but was it just a reaction to the situation? Because you thought I had died? Was it just a moment of bad judgement?

I know you have a resonance, which I know is sort of like a soulmate, and that just makes everything way more complicated. I know there is an amazingly high chance that the kiss meant absolutely nothing. What are the odds that out of all the people in the infinite universe that I was meant for someone like you?

I honestly don’t deserve you.

Of course that doesn’t stop me from wanting you. After watching my mother die I had convinced myself that I didn’t need or want anybody ever. Love is fickle and cruel, often causing immeasurable pain and I hadn’t thought the benefits could outweigh that. I loved my parents, and they both died, leaving me alone and with enough emotional pain to last a lifetime.

I really hadn’t counted on you though. I hadn’t taken into account that you couldn’t just choose not to love and care for someone else. It snuck up on me. I hadn’t even realized it was happening. One moment my super confidence that love was for suckers was there and the next I was looking at you and realizing that I didn’t know what I would do without you. I cared more about you than I did me. I wasn’t as afraid of dying as I was of leaving you behind. I didn’t want to cause you that kind of pain.

I don’t know much about love, but I do know that I don’t want to ever leave you. I would never claim to be an expert on the subject, but if that isn’t love than I really don’t know what love is. If it isn’t, then is it at least good enough?



Your stupid dipshit,
Deacon


P.S. Yes it is real and it is mine.

There was a simple black jewelry case sitting on the counter beneath the note that held a necklace that was a vial on a chain. A crimson liquid, presumably blood, was in the vial.

Templar

Templar had not spent much time in hospitals, but he could safely say he disliked the experience immensely. Not because being around sickness or death bothered him, not at all, but the sounds were simply unbearable. How did everyone else stand it? All the beeping and humming and whirling of medical equipment were going to drive him insane. Well, more insane than usual, at any rate. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the heart monitor or the respirator. Both infernal machines were currently assaulting his ears with their noise pollution.

The vampire had been hovering there in the shadows for hours, watching and waiting for an opportunity. He didn’t want to be there and loathed his task, but it was not in him to blatantly disobey a divine order. His job could have been done by now if the tall blue creature keeping vigil by Deacon’s bedside were to just go away. The elf had made things particularly annoying since Templar had arrived. Killing him had crossed his mind many times. He would have been happy to simply kill them both. It wasn’t as if the pathetic thing dying in the hospital bed actually deserved the blessing of Azrael. Sadly the wretch had been ordered to live, and it was his job to make sure it was so. Since the mage was to be fully integrated into the family, if the elf was really his great-something-nephew’s Consort, then harming him was blasphemous.

It really was a pity. He looked tasty and he did so love trying exotic cuisine.

Templar really hated having things deemed off limits, but he had to focus on the task at hand. It seemed an eternity before the blasted pointy-eared bastard nodded off to sleep. He had no idea how long that would last, or how deeply Eit might sleep, so he wasted no time in pouncing.  The shadows deepened and swept across the room, engulfing Deacon and then retreating as quickly as they had advanced, causing the ill Duo to simply vanish, and Templar – who had been an unseen shadow to begin with – with him.

The machines once monitoring and maintaining the dying human’s life began screeching in protest, but he no longer had to hear it or care. It actually amused him to think of the panic that would cause, not only for scurrying hospital staff, but for that annoying blue asshole that made his life difficult without even knowing it.

Sadly he couldn’t revel in the chaos he had just caused, everything had to move quickly now. The pair reappeared in a much less sterile room; it was warm and prepared for their failing guest. Deacon was dumped on a nicer bed designed for in-home hospice care, and a blonde man with bright red eyes was immediately at his side, covering his nose and mouth with a respiration mask as the mage gasped and struggled for breath. Templar just smirked and shrugged at the glare thrown at him by the good doctor. They had been arguing for weeks, months even, over this very moment. Hector thought he was waiting far too long and that the risk of losing the boy was too high – higher by the day.

What an annoying nag. Honestly he could have taken care of this many months ago, but the longer he waited the less chance Deacon would ever wake up. Templar liked his odds. If he tried to turn him and he did not survive the change, then how was it his fault the human was too weak? It would prove his point and rid him of what he considered a disgraceful nuisance.

The sound of a heart monitor made him hunch his shoulders, it was almost worse than nails on a chalkboard by this point. He turned and scowled as he watched Hector work, hooking Deacon up to those infernal machines – what a joke!

“If he can’t live for ten minutes without help then why should he be allowed to live at all?” It seemed a more than valid question to him.

“He wouldn’t need help if you had simply done as you were told. The Incarnation is going to kill me if this one dies, and you toy with him like a cat that’s caught a mouse. This is not a hospital; please just do your damn job before he expires.” Hector was pretty, especially when he was angry. Templar almost wished he was one of his pets.

“Let my grandfather tear you to pieces for your incompetence, you act like I should care.” With an annoyed sigh he waved the man away and approached the bed, nose crinkling in distaste. The mage stank of disease and death – hardly appetizing. Well, the sooner this was over the sooner he could leave this wretched space station and go home where he belonged. Gripping Deacon’s chin not at all gently, he jerked his head to the side and sank his teeth into the weak, fluttering pulse. For the first time in hours, the human actually showed signs of life beyond the labored breathing, putting up a laughable struggle for a few moments before going limp again.

“All that poison medicine makes the blood taste foul.”  Templar stepped back with a sound and look of disgust.

“Well if you had done this when you were supposed to you wouldn’t have had to worry about it, would you?” Hector sneered, a look of satisfaction crossing his face for just a moment. Clearly he enjoyed Templar’s displeasure in the situation. He glanced at the monitors, there had been a momentary spike in heart rate, but now the pulse had slowed, and it would continue to do so – or it would crash completely. All that could be done now was to wait and hope that things went as intended.

And wait they did.

For hours.

“How long does this fucking take? I’ve been waiting forever. When does he wake up?” Templar was pacing the room, casting accusatory glances between Deacon and Hector, as if the pair was somehow conspiring just to annoy him.

“Well how long can vary. You let him deteriorate for months, letting his sickness fester. There is a lot of damage to repair. It isn’t an instantaneous process, you know. His body is literally changing into a different species; try to show a little patience.” Honestly Hector was starting to grow nervous himself, what if there was just too much damage to recover from? Azrael really would kill him if Deacon died. He had unhooked the respirator an hour ago, the Duo was breathing on his own fine now, which had to be a good sign, right? His heart rate and body temperature had dropped significantly, into normal ranges for their kind, but he was still unconscious.

Templar made a noise of frustration and stalked over to the bed, leaning over it and scowling at his descendant expectantly. His patience was wearing paper thin. He couldn’t leave until Deacon was awake and eating properly. After that his responsibility to him ended and it would be Hector’s problem entirely.


Deacon

Things were so fuzzy, but Deacon knew that he was dying. It was probably the only thing he knew for sure. Everything else was kind of a hazy dream. All that mattered was that his partner was there. No matter what else, he could accept it as long as Eit didn’t leave him alone. There were so many things he wanted to say to him, but honestly he wasn’t sure if any of the words ever did come out. He wanted to tell him how sorry he was – sorry for years of being an insufferable shit, for not telling him how he felt, for having to leave him now.

Did he get to say any of it?

Deacon didn’t know. All he knew was that he was exhausted and that everything hurt so much. At least he thought it had hurt, but then the world just shifted and suddenly Eit wasn’t there and he couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned for several moments, but then a familiar pressure covered his face and air was forced back into him. It was a relief, but only temporary, because despite being unable to open his eyes, he knew that his jockey was gone. He struggled to wake up, to resist the strange hand that grabbed him, and then he thought he felt something else, but he was too tired to know what and he drifted back into the weird here but gone haze.

The next thing he consciously became aware of was the sound of strange voices. He wished they would shut up; he was tired and trying to sleep. Wait, they were talking about him? Deacon had no idea what they were going on about, but the next thing he realized was that he was desperately thirsty. Or was he hungry? Probably both, how long had he been lying in a hospital bed even? If they were chattering about him in his room they were probably doctors or nurses? Either way they should be able to get him something.

As his eyes cracked open, he knew two things: the room was very dim, which he liked, and secondly, there was a man hovering over him that he didn’t quite recognize. Whoever it was, their face was turned away and Deacon’s eyes dilated as he stared at the neck in front of him. There was absolutely no decision-making process going on here, one moment he was lying there, and the next his fingers were tangled in dark hair, fangs sinking into a cool throat. The second the first drop of blood hit his tongue, there was no thinking, pure instinct had him not simply bite and drink, he ripped into the flesh, tearing and gouging until blood was pouring down his chin in a gushing fountain of sweetness.

The man in his grasp had grabbed ahold of the safety rail and though he thought he’d made a startled yell, he only just began to struggle. Deacon was pretty sure he ripped his throat even more as his victim jerked out of his grasp and fell backwards onto the floor. He watched, almost entranced as Templar, hey that was his name, threw a hand to his destroyed throat, comically trying to stop the blood flow.

“I forgot what messy eaters newborns could be.” Templar was cackling madly, in a way that made the hair on Deacon’s neck stand up. Shouldn’t he be dead?

That was about the moment that thinking caught back up with him. Deacon realized that he was licking and sucking on his blood soaked fingers and jerked his hands away from his mouth, looking down at himself. He was covered in a sizable amount of blood. How much had even made it in his mouth? He felt mildly horrified that he’d just been sucking down blood like it was sweet tea. No, it was better than that and he wanted more.

“What the fuck?” He asked no one in particular. The gears were turning slowly, he wasn’t completely stupid, he just didn’t believe it. 

“Please try to remain calm, Mr. Chambers. I’m Dr. Hector Wilde, and you will be in my medical care from now on.” The blonde man approached him, ignoring the other blood-covered man in the room, who had gotten shakily to his feet and moved to sit in one of the chairs. This room looked like a crime scene. Deacon hissed softly as a bright light was suddenly flashing in first one eye and then the other. “Light sensitivity is common and to be expected. Your eyes will readjust shortly and your vitals are good.”

“Well that’s nice, but what the actual fuck?” He was struggling to keep a bit of hysteria out of his voice. Somebody needed to start explaining shit right now.

“You’re a vampire. I thought that should be obvious. You’ve got a hell of a bite, too.” Templar chortled, still pressing a hand to his wounded neck, but it was healing. “Hector, hurry up. I’m hungry. I hope you brought enough for both of us.”

Hearing it out loud was a lot weirder than thinking it, but it also made it feel more real. Honestly he didn’t know what to think, but his attention definitely perked up at the word hungry. Hell yes, he was still starving. It was probably wrong to feel so happy at the thought of getting more blood, but he was giddy as fuck. He wanted it like a cokehead wanted crack.

“You weren’t supposed to get your throat ripped out.” Hector snorted, moving to a cooler and pulling out what looked like IV bags of blood. He threw one unceremoniously at Templar then brought one to Deacon with a scowl. “Don’t think overly hard about it, just eat. I know some humans are reluc-“

Reluctant he was not. Deacon brought the bag to his mouth and sunk his teeth in wordlessly; sucking on it as easily as a kid might have one of those weird Kool-Aid pouches. It wasn’t as sweet as Templar’s blood had been, but he slurped at it greedily just the same – it was still delicious and he had never been so hungry/thirst before in his life.

“Well I don’t think we have to worry about him eating…” Hector mused, scratching the back of his head with a smirk. “This is actually a synthetic formula. Libra is not a place where hunting for fresh blood is very easily done. The Mori Group is a family-run corporation that developed it specifically to feed vampires living in less hospitable locations, such as Libra. The formula is nutritionally equivalent to the real thing, but unfortunately they haven’t been able to completely perfect the flavor.”

“He means it tastes like shit.” Templar grumbled around a mouthful of plastic packaging.

Hector gave a long suffering sigh and fetched a second bag for Deacon. “It tastes fine, and you will be drinking a lot of it; especially for the first several weeks, because after that your hunger pangs will lessen slightly and you’ll require less to sustain yourself. You’re still in a period of transition. Don’t worry; I’ve already made arrangements for a steady supply to be delivered to your home.”

Deacon was barely paying attention to either of them. He was too busy reflecting inwardly. The blood, formula, whatever in his mouth tasted great, but the mage was just becoming aware of how he felt. There was no more pain, he didn’t ache or feel worn down, he felt almost hyper, energetic, truly alive for the first time in what felt like ages. He noticed other things too, like how he was still breathing between swallows, his heart was beating, but it felt sluggish. Was he alive or undead? He didn’t know, it was weird, but an hour ago he’d though he was dying-dying, so who was he to complain?

Oh shit.

He dropped the bag he had just finished and looked around frantically. Where was his partner? He had been with him at the hospital. Deacon jumped out of bed, glaring at Hector and Templar both accusingly. “Where’s Eit?”

“I left him at the hospital. I couldn’t exactly bring him along, but I didn’t do anything to him. He was sleeping when I took you.” Templar still had blood smeared on his neck and on his clothes, but whatever damage Deacon had done seemed to be gone now. Too bad, he kind of wished he’d killed him. Not that he really knew why, but he kind of wanted the asshole to die.

“Well this has been great and all, but I got to go. Eit probably lost his shit.” Deacon started to feel around for his com in his pockets, but looked down and realized he was in one of those lame hospital gowns. Well that made sense. “God damn it. Where’s my com? I have to tell Eit I’m okay before he has a heart attack or something.”

“Uh…we don’t have it.” Hector shrugged helplessly. “It is probably with your partner. Don’t be so hasty, you’ve barely woken up. You’re going to crash soon. Let me call the hospital and find out if your Eit is still there. Templar, make yourself useful.”

Deacon rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. He couldn’t leave looking this way anyway, he couldn’t let Eit seem him covered in blood like this – the poor thing really would have a heart attack.

“My job’s done, so I’m leaving. That door there is the bathroom. You got a change of clothes ready on the sink. Good fucking luck.” Templar waved at Deacon with a bored look before being swallowed by shadows and disappearing.

The next half-hour was the most frustrating of Deacon’s life, at least that’s what it felt like. Hector was annoying, insisting on him drinking two more liters, wanting him to be showered and dressed – admittedly he felt far more like himself once he was clean and wearing his own clothes. It pissed him off a little to realize they actually were his clothes. One of those assholes had gone in his house, into his room, and stolen a change of clothes.

Dicks.

Finally he was able to return to the hospital. Apparently Eit had to be sedated when he had gone missing, and Deacon wasn’t sure just how pissed off he should be about it. On the one hand, he was still alive when he should probably be dead, and - while medicated against his will - Eit was also safe.

Slipping into the hospital room where Eit was currently sleeping, Deacon decided it didn’t matter for now. He could deal with it all later. The only thing he cared about was curled up on a hospital bed that really wasn’t long enough for him – goddamn blue giant. A soft smirk tugged at his lips as he gently brushed a stray strand of hair from the elf’s face. Even looking like he’d been through hell, Eit was fucking beautiful.

It was a hell of a fit, but Deacon squirmed his way into bed, only settling contently when he was completely wrapped around his jockey.

“I’m home.”

I hate this fucking city.

The words were a grounding mantra repeating over and over again inside Bran’s head as he laid there in the floor of the Adstreian Inquiry office. Smoke wafted from the end of his cigarette, he’d lost count of how many that made today. It was being in this place’s fault. The only time he smoked this heavily was when he was stressed or angry. Being in Adstreia definitely made him on edge. You couldn’t really relax when you hated where you were. It was even harder to let go with a big case to work on.

Not that there was really much left to work on. It had been an accident, as far as they could glean; a very unfortunate accident, but there was no foul play to pursue. Everyone would be packing it in and going home soon.

His feet were up in the chair at his temporary desk, boots and all. It really was no skin off his nose if the furniture got scuffed or dirty, not his office and not his city. Did he actually have a city? Born and raised in Haviah, post-graduation was split between different battlefields – how lucky for him to be the right age to serve in that particular war – and here.

Every break from deployment was spent in this stupid city with its nonsensical obsession with stars and space. Of course Bran had never come here for the local culture or the mountains or the cuisine – all of which were terrible.

Ryun was his new assignment. He’d been there for over six months now. Did that make it his city? His to work in, but it wasn’t like he was actually attached to the place. It hadn’t really felt like home yet, but he wasn’t sure he had given it a fair chance yet. Maybe the place had a rep for being extremely touristy, but that didn’t make it a bad place. The beaches were nice and he loved the seafood.

Did he miss Ryun or did he just not want to be here?

Bran fiddled with his com some more, the chat was something he hadn’t fooled around with much, but it was a much needed distraction. You could only have files and files of data, evidence, and analysis running through your head for so long before going insane. That was his own fault, with his brain refusing to turn off. He’d always had a problem with becoming hyper-focused on details. Even with everything winding down he couldn’t just stop.

Hell, even Kielen had bailed early today and it was her office and her city. Thinking of her had interesting flashes of forever preserved moments running through his head. That was a hell of a woman right there, and she’d been an excellent distraction for a hot minute – figuratively of course. She’d been handing out distractions like candy.

Even with that going through his head, Bran could feel his eyes drooping and his thoughts fizzing out. When was the last time he’d slept? A power nap on a cot didn’t really count. After a quick relay of his dilemma, the consensus seemed to be that he should go rest.

Ren and Dekval, weren’t those both Ravens?

Bran dragged himself off the floor and threw on his jacket before logging out and powering down his work terminal. The cigarette hanging precariously between his lips was down to the filter and he put it out in the overflowing ashtray before lighting another.

He kept the chat open while walking to his hotel. They were talking about movies now. Sure he’d left to get some sleep, but the walk had woken him up and he knew that more than likely he’d just lay in the strange bed and stare at the ceiling while running more bullshit through his already overworked brain until he either literally couldn’t keep his eyes open any more or until it was time to get up and try another day.

It wasn’t as if he was wrong. As soon as he laid down Bran was thinking about the case again, wondering if there was anything they might have missed. There wasn’t, of course. Shutting off thoughts of the case only led to him thinking about something else he didn’t want in his head. His head was full of shit he didn’t want in there anymore.

Back to the chat, he didn’t know these people, but it helped to talk to someone else, even for a few moments. They were something external to pull him out of his head. It was working, at least a little bit, and that was better than not at all.

Whispers recommended a documentary on Solartan mummification if he was looking to be bored to sleep, so he flipped through the channels until he found something suitably dull. The narrator’s voice was awful – nasally and definitely droning. It was perfect. Bran didn’t know what it was really about and he didn’t care as he tried once again to settle into the hotel bed.

The sensation of fingers gently raking across his scalp and a familiar voice whispering his name in his ear had Bran jerk awake with a start. A quick look around the room told him there was no one there, but he had known there wouldn’t be; just another memory rearing its unwanted head.

He rubbed the sleep and grit from his eyes, there was sunlight filtering through the blinds so he rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Going through the motions of his morning routine, Bran didn’t really pause to start thinking until he was already out of the shower with nothing but a towel around his waist and staring into the bathroom mirror. There was at least three days’ worth of growth on his face, and he scratched at it irritably. Maybe it was a good day to give in and shave.

The hotel bathroom melted away and suddenly he was staring into a different mirror in a different bathroom. Bran knew this wasn’t the real or present image, but the memory was too strong to ignore.



A younger him was smirking and rubbing at his chin while side-eying a slightly smaller young man with shaggy blond hair who was waving a razor at him.

“Look here Muffin McScruffin, your face is starting to get all scratchy and pokey when you kiss me so you either shave it or I am withholding my love and affection you heathen.” Tomas made that threat at least once a week, and had yet to actually act on it. Bran knew that his boyfriend couldn’t possibly make good on such a weak threat.

“I don’t know. I think I can get away with one more day. It isn’t that bad and we both know that you’re going to let me kiss you breathless whenever the hell I want.” To prove his point Bran grabbed Tomas around the waist and pulled him close, drawing him into a heated kiss that he wished they had time to turn into more than just a kiss. Alas, this was their last morning before being deployed again. No rest for the wicked, especially wicked Pilots.

Tomas squealed and pushed against his chest, resisting valiantly against the stubbly affection. At least for a moment, then his arms were around Bran’s neck, kissing him back with an equal amount of wishful longing. The blond boy really was breathless when they finally pulled their lips apart with no small amount of reluctance.

“Okay…fine, maybe you can go one more day.” Bran would never forget the playful twinkle in those sweet hazel eyes.



The present bathroom slowly came back into focus as Bran squeezed his eyes closed, he could feel the death grip he had on the edges of the vanity, but it took him several moments before he could let go. His hands ached, cramping up in that short amount of time lost in the past. Gods above, he hated when that happened.

Shaking it off Bran finished getting ready, hesitating for a moment before sending a message to Kielen that he would be late getting back into the office today. He had a personal errand to see to this morning.

They had told him where, all those years ago. Of course, like everything else, Bran could never forget it, but until now, he had never been able to bring himself to come here. The memorials in Adstreia looked like most others he had seen. The tiny boxes of ashes in marble walls seemed surreal to him. Why did they have to do it this way?

Not that there was anything wrong with it. Bran just didn’t want to stand in front of this box secured into the marble wall. His fingers traced over the name on the small vault.

Pilot Cardinal Tomas Malott.

Sometimes you just had to hate being right.

Jexica had known something was wrong when Raz had told her he was leaving, just for a day, because he had to do something. The moment those words had been spoken to her there’d been an uneasy feeling squeezing in her chest. When he hadn’t come home it had been like an icy hand wrapping around her heart.

She had thought that first night with him gone when he was supposed to be home was the worst feeling in the world, but she’d been wrong. It only got worse with each passing day. Jexica couldn’t remember how it felt for her eyes not to burn with the sting of tears or her throat not to be raw from crying.

Baby and the Commodore knew something was very wrong too. They hadn’t left her side since Raz had left, but it was small comfort. Her com had barely left her hand since he hadn’t come home on time. No news certainly didn’t feel like good news, if Raz had been able to he would have just told her he wasn’t going to be home on time. That meant he couldn’t contact her. The Valkyries hadn’t been able to tell her what was actually going on.

All Jexica knew was that wherever Raz had gone, it wasn’t something he’d been ordered to do. It wasn’t an assigned mission of any kind. That was something she had latched on to because she didn’t have anything else. Raz had been taken from her and it was his own fault. The anger helped keep the despair at bay.

When Neeko had messaged her that Raz was alive and at DoSaM she had flown from the apartment so fast she barely had a moment to pause and think to ask Neeko if he and Nishi would take care of the animals until she could bring Raz home with her.

At first all she could feel was overwhelming relief and happiness. Her Razzie was alive! He was hurt, but he was alive. Several hours on the rail gave her plenty of time to turn that happiness and relief into unbridled rage. Nobody had told him to go do…whatever it was he’d gone to do that had kept him away from home and landed him in the hospital. It was his fault she had to feel all that horrible heart-wrenching worry and sadness.

When she had finally arrived in Havina, Jexica practically ran all the way from the station to the hospital. She didn’t slow down until she was in the proper hallway. Then she forced herself to stop and compose herself, if only slightly. She couldn’t exactly make her eyes look like she hadn’t been crying for days or change the fact that she clearly hadn’t slept properly since he’d been gone.

Jexica took a deep breath as she approached his door, and then let it out before pushing it open and glaring at her uncle, who apparently got to see him before she did. Alec made a hasty exit as soon as he saw her, clearly mouthing the words ‘good luck’ to Raz as he slipped past her and pulled the door shut behind him to leave them alone with as much privacy as could be afforded inside a hospital room. It would have to be enough.

Honestly the moment her eyes had laid on his face her heart had lurched, drumming wildly in her chest. He was hurt, and it hurt her to know it. Part of her wanted to rush to his bedside and try to comfort him, but no, she wasn’t going to give in to that urge.

Not yet, he had some things to answer for!

She stormed over to the bed, and brought a fisted hand down on his chest with a glare. It probably wasn’t that hard of a hit, even though she didn’t really try to hold back. Unlike him, Jexica wasn’t a fighter.

“Do you have any idea how much you scared me?” Jexica hit him again. “You better have a really good excuse. Start talking!”

There were two cigar boxes, just sitting on the counter at the half bar in Matt’s kitchen. Both of them were the exact same, except one was open. Breaking the seal on that box was so much harder than it should have been. Was it the way he couldn’t keep his hands from trembling no matter how much he willed them to be steady? There was a chance it was just the guilt that was eating him up inside. It could have been a combination of both.

Grisham smoked these ones the most often.

There was as much smog of cigar smoke in his kitchen as there was a thick haze in his head. Everything had turned into a tangled blur since the moment the Commander had gone spinning off into nothingness. That had been the most terrible, terrifying, heart-stopping moment in Matt’s life. Being dragged into the office of the Head of Candidate Affairs and being informed of his mother’s death didn’t even touch losing Grisham Alberich out there. At least with his mother he hadn’t been there and there wasn’t any way he could blame himself for her dying.

Here he could heap guilt upon himself in spades.

Why hadn’t it been him? How many of the Hellions had been asking themselves that from the moment it happened? Matt knew most of them had thought it at least once, but in his case it seemed truly fitting to place the blame and burden on his shoulders. It had been a small technical problem. There shouldn’t have been any danger fixing it. So why hadn’t Grisham had him do it? He was the technopath. Would it not have been great experience for him? Had the Commander not trusted him to do it because he was the youngest and least experienced? Could they have avoided losing Grisham if he had just been a little better, more reliable, if he had been good enough?

They had all had to go through the Axis point. It had been Matt’s first time, and he still felt a dull ache throbbing through his head. Had the dragons questioned him longer than needed because of the extreme guilt he had felt the entire time? There had been nothing for him to hide, of course, and he wouldn’t have wanted to hide anything from them. Part of him wished they had found fault in him, had punished him in some way.

Matt deserved it.

Even if his incompetence wasn’t the reason Grisham had decided to correct the satellite himself, Matt should have done more once the skiff began spiraling out of control. It didn’t matter that he had tried – that he had tried so fucking hard to do something. Reaching out to the skiff had been futile, he had attempted to grab control of the systems, to counter the spin somehow, but it just wouldn’t respond to him and then it was just gone. The small ship had flung outside of his reach so damn fast that even if it hadn’t been damaged he probably couldn’t have corrected it in time. He should have been faster. Matt should have been better.

That just circled him right back to the beginning of his cycle of guilt – it should have been him.

In Haviah they had huddled together after their ordeal. How many of them were in a short of shock? He certainly felt like it couldn’t possibly be real. As soon as they had been cleared to leave Matt had come home to Adstreia. From the rail station he’d headed to a specialty store, bought two boxes of Grisham’s favorite cigars, a big bottle of brandy, and retreated to his apartment alone. He was on his fourth glass, so maybe that wasn’t helping his head.

All he knew was that he couldn’t face his squad mates right now. What right did he have to grieve with them? Logically Matt knew nobody was probably blaming him for it, but he couldn’t stop the guilt from trying to drown him. They all knew Grisham for longer, were closer to him. He was just the loud, annoying new kid that talked too much.

The Chatterbox.

Nobody wanted to listen to him cry over someone they knew better than him. That was just another reason it should have been him. Who cared if the Hellions lost Matthew Wright? He was no one, some dumb kid that hadn’t even earned his keep yet. The squad could easily go on and recover from him being gone, but Grisham? Could the Hellions even feel like the Hellions without him?

No, Matt couldn’t believe he was really gone.

That was why he had bought two boxes. The second one was for Grisham, for when he got back. Matt had to believe that the Commander was coming back. He wasn’t sure he could live with the guilt otherwise.

Vaguely he wondered what Grisham would have said if he was there, if he knew all the horrible things going through Matt’s head. Did he even know the Commander well enough to guess? Would he slap him upside the back of the head again? Matt was only a couple months short of having a baby coming into the world. How could he wish he had been the one left behind? Was he supposed to be relieved that he came home instead of Grisham so he could meet his daughter?

No, he didn’t feel relief. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Grisham was supposed to be here so that they could argue over whose turn it was to hold the baby. The Commander was supposed to be a bad influence and get Matt yelled at by Lukabelle when their started pretending to smoke cigars.

Hell, Matt could have gone years and years without even knowing he had a daughter. Lukabelle hadn’t wanted to tell him at first, and even then she hadn’t really wanted him involved. He’d just sort of forced his way in because of his own abandonment issues. His daughter would have been just fine without ever knowing he was her father. Lukabelle seemed a good woman with a sensible head on her shoulders. She would have taken care of Sunshine without him. His daughter could have been raised by another man, a father she wouldn’t have to worry about whether he was coming home or not any given day.

God, why was everything so fucked up?

His glass was empty again and the cigar was nearly burning his fingers. Matt didn’t hesitate to light up another before pouring himself a fifth glass. He should have bought more brandy – a lot more.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Keiko Zomu
Aliases: Kei, Koko, Zinc [Online]
Rank: Pilot Royal and Commander of the Ryun Ravens
Gender: Primarily Female
Age: 97
Height: 5’ 4”
Race: Kitsune
Residence: Ryun, Aedolis
Dragon: Misfortune; Female


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

This is subject entirely to the whims of Keiko at any given moment. With her vast ability to shape-shift so much of her appearance it would be like trying to capture the wind with your bare hands. That being said, there is something of a ‘default’ appearance that the Kitsune settles into when not needing or wanting something else. Whether this is her natural, birth form without the ability to shift is not known, even to her.

Keiko is compact, just as an over generalization. Her body is short, narrow and ruler straight, lacking almost entirely in curves to denote femininity. While the Kitsune is strong as any good soldier should be, her muscle definition is subtle and lean, which makes people dangerously underestimate her.

Smooth tan skin with deep copper undertones is great for the extremely sunny and black sand beaches of the dome she currently resides in. Her hair drops razor straight to her mid-back, and is black with a blue sheen in the light. Keiko’s eyes are a very dark blue, and almond in shape. She has a long, narrow face with both chin and nose being slightly pointy.

Last but not least, she has fox ears and a very fluffy tail to match. The fur is silver with black tips. As these features stand out quite a bit, she rarely has them shifted out when working stealth and undercover work, but in her relaxed, natural state they always appear.



PERSONALITY

Keiko has a very cool head on her shoulders. She carries herself with confidence but lacks arrogance, having no desire to become full of bravado and bloated self-importance. More than anything the Kitsune is private and somewhat aloof.



PSYONICS & ABILITIES

Telepathy: Decent with communication over distances and shielding thoughts, less talented with intruding uninvited into other minds.

Hemokinesis: With an emphasis on destruction over healing, Kei is much better at manipulating the blood of her targets to swiftly and stealthily kill them without ever laying a hand on them than she is at using her powers to help someone. In a pinch she can stop bleeding on herself or an ally, but anything beyond that is above her skill.

Shape-shifting: A naturally occurring species trait, Keiko has the ability to do quite a lot with her appearance. Aside from being able to take the form of a fox – frankly a pretty useless thing to be able to do these days – she can change drastically change her looks. The length and color of her hair is easily malleable, as is the hue of her eyes. Changes in body shape are slightly more taxing, but not at all impossible. Keiko can even change her gender at will, having spent years at a time as a man when under deep cover or even just when she feels like it.

Lifespan: Immortal? Possibly. She doesn’t know for sure, but she knows she’s still really young.



BACKSTORY

Most of Keiko’s life since the ATC is highly classified information, blacked out even in her profile accessible by other Pilots. Her life before the ATC is mostly unknown, except that she is of Aedolian origin and heritage.

Given her great natural abilities for stealth offensive operations, she has been under deep cover performing covert ops for most of her career, leaving her a relative unknown in both the Pilot and civilian world. As far as any but the Dragons and her rotating handlers were concerned Keiko Zomu did not exist – which isn’t inaccurate, because her information has been changed at least twice, so Keiko Zomu could just be another made up alias she has taken up.

The true reason for their sudden removal from deep cover and thrust into a high profile role within the Ryun Ravens is unknown except to the Dragons and Keiko, but they aren’t likely to divulge such information. Officially, because of Keiko’s extensive background in stealth offensive operations they deemed her an adequate replacement for the last Commander of the Ravens.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full name: Travis De Luca
Alias: Fido
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Height: 6’2”
Race: Werewolf
Sexuality: Opportunist
Nationality: Libran
Occupation: Body Modification Specialist


PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Travis De Luca

Travis is a tall and lanky youth. His long body is narrow instead of blocky but his physique is made up of well-defined musculature. All those lean muscles are wrapped in warm skin that falls somewhere between russet and terra-cotta. Like the rest of him, his face is somewhat narrow, with softer edges instead of stronger, more squared features like the other males in his family.

A mop of medium length and very red hair falls haphazardly into his face. Yellow-gold eyes stare out of his face full of mischief and are usually accompanied by his wide mouth twisted in a smirk. Slightly thin lips hide pearly white teeth and a pair of pronounced canines.

Fashion isn’t a high priority. Mostly comfortable shirts, jeans, and shoes make up his wardrobe. He likes jewelry, though. Travis is particularly fond of leather corded and braided bracelets or wrist cuffs. Multiple necklaces are another common grouping of accessories. Then of course are his piercings. A “snake bite” in his lower lip, his earlobes, as well as two hoops high in the cartilage and those are just the obvious ones. If you want to know about the other ones you’ll just have to go hunting for them.

There is a very stylized tattoo of a sun over his heart, and a moon with two stars on his right hip.

In the hybrid wolf form Travis grows quite a lot, topping out at eight feet if he stands at his full height. His body remains gangly, but clearly bulkier than his human self. The fur on the beast is a mix of red, brown, and gray.



PERSONALITY

Obnoxiously stubborn about doing things his own way, Travis is not exactly good at being compromising on most things. He wraps himself up in a layer of snark and smugness to keep most people at arm’s length. Despite a tendency to be abrasive and somewhat combative, he’s a fierce and loyal friend if you can get him to call you that.



SKILLS

The Usual Suspects
•   Heightened senses, speed, strength, and reflexes.
•   Can change into a hybrid wolf form that is even stronger.
•   Superior immunity to diseases and phenomenal healing capabilities.
•   Ages much slower and lives much longer than humans.

The Less Usual Suspects
•   Saliva has healing properties.
•   Does not have a weakness to silver.
•   Generates tons of body heat.
•   Super high metabolism means always hungry.



RELATIONSHIPS
Tanner De Luca: A grizzled old Knight and a real hard ass. Blood says the man is his father, but they don’t have much of a relationship.

Holly De Luca: A well-meaning housewife and his mother. She still tries to mother him and he still lives to make her worry.

Cyrus De Luca: Golden Boy Knight, always doing what father says and never getting in trouble. They avoid each other whenever possible.

Belladonna De Luca: Little sister and slight pest, but one he genuinely loves most in his family. She is still in training to be a jockey.

Kibble: A female gray tabby cat missing her left front leg. He has had her since she was a kitten, taking her to a vet after he had saved her from being harassed by a dog. Since the kitten was just a stray the vet was going to send her to a shelter where she might have never been adopted because of her missing leg. Travis already had his own apartment by then so he took her home with him.



BACKSTORY

Born second, Travis spent the first four years of his life as the baby, until his little sister came along and turned him into the middle child. They weren’t a terribly remarkable or out of the ordinary family, aside for being werewolves in a predominantly human culture. His father is a Knight, so a pillar of society as a military man, but the wolf was a hard man to be raised by with his authoritarian view of keeping his family running smoothly.

Being stuck in the middle, between an older brother he could never quite live up to and a younger sister that was regarded as a flawless princess, Travis holds a lot of resentment for always getting what he could only describe as “the shit end of the stick”.

The troublemaker and problem child became the center of his identity at home. With nothing he did ever being good enough to live up to what he considered unfair expectations he decided that trying wasn’t worth the effort. In fact, the only time he felt he could really get attention from his parents was when he caused them issues, so learned that bad behavior was the only thing that actually focused the family on him and not either of his siblings.

Instead of going after higher education and attempting to join the military as his father wanted, Travis barely finished the free public education system before turning his back on his family entirely. He was always fairly creative and a good artist, so he apprenticed at a tattoo parlor. Now he makes his living inking or piercing up clients, collecting his own piercings and ink along the way.

Travis is rather pleased overall with his life and with being a disappointment.